


Fake Tales Of New York

by secrtdoor



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secrtdoor/pseuds/secrtdoor
Summary: Alex switched homes again and moved from California shores to a spacious house in Brooklyn. Working harder than ever on a new album, he wants to do his best in time for recording, yet pay more attention to Matt's family since now they live in the same city.





	

He almost dropped the bags, barely avoided a collision with a couple of taxi cabs, crossed the road and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Late, as always, with his phone vibrating every two seconds, Alex promised to be at Matt's place in less than an hour, and he still needed to go home, put the groceries in the fridge, change into clothes that didn't smell like yesterday pizza, tea and sleepless nights, and it wasn't easy to get from Brooklyn to Manhattan in under twenty minutes.

Another text message, probably from Miles. He insisted on sending pictures of everything from his holidays with Hannah and, apparently, she didn't mind. They were coming to States in a few days, and already made plans to meet with Alex for dinner at a nice French place a few blocks from his house. Whether he wanted or not, the attendance was obligatory.

The phone just didn't stop buzzing. Alex had to walk carefully, worrying much more about the bottles of wine, a little something for Matt and his wife, than about his own well-being. The keys slipped out of his hand, and he had to put the bags down and pick them up, checking the time and opening the door at the same time. 

The house met him with silence, a pile of unread newspapers on the table, dishes in the sink and a whole lot of sheets, covered in lyrics, in the living room. He worked way too much in the last months, especially after his return to New York, which took everyone by surprise. A brief round of negotiations - and Alex purchased a house near the neighborhood he used to live in and moved rather quickly, taking very little clothes and a couple of guitars with him.

His boots left traces on both the wooden floors in the hallway and tiles in the kitchen, and he promised to clean up tomorrow. Living in the same city as his best friend had complications, and after being far away for quite a while, Matt wanted to spend some time over the weekend, and it was the first invite that Alex hasn't turned down since arriving here. It was a promise that he intended to keep, really, but there was so much stuff to do, and they were going to start recording soon, and the pressure of editing and rewriting the songs was a little bit too much too handle. 

Three messages in a row. Pictures. "Are we still up for that French place?" Of course. Too many canceled plans to be considered a reliable person ever again. He grabbed the bottles and a little gift for their kid, the consultant's choice (his own knowledge of children ended at diapers and crying), and headed upstairs. 

A white shirt with no stains that also didn't stink - check! A sweater with the same requirements - check! Jeans? Shoes? Technically, it was January, but it's not like he was about to take a stroll to Manhattan, right? Last look in the mirror. Thankfully, Alex remembered to shave earlier. He could also use a haircut, certainly, but... Oh, crap, he had less than twenty minutes left.

A brief gaze through the opened door of the living room - a problem for another day, as well as laundry. They all became insignificant when he started writing. Alright. He ran down the steps, caught a taxi, put the bag on the seat next to him and closed his eyes. Maybe, if he's lucky enough, there was still enough time for a quick nap. Just like all of his friends who had kids, Alex never managed to get a healthy amount of sleep. So what was the big difference, really?


End file.
